


A Stranger Comes

by RedStarFiction



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 21:32:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8118283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: Hi guys, I’ve been quite distracted today and unable to settle on any one idea or progression and then fifteen minutes ago this slightly strange (and very short) scene just popped into my head and so I thought I’d share it. Happy Friday :)





	

Malachi stopped, his knife drawn and ears pricked. He could hear people near by, perhaps only two but there may be more. He had lived in the woods for thirty winters, since the sickness that claimed his wife and child had ravaged their dwelling, and he knew when other men were close.

He crept forward and listened again before making a sharp and silent turn to the left and flitting between the trees. A man and boy were making a small fire, it looked as though they were bedding down for the night.

“Grandda?”

“Mmm?”

A low rumble from the hunched man beside the fire. A big fellow, with hair the colour of red deer in spring.

“How do ye ken for sure that someone loves ye?”

Malachi put his knife away and listened, he preferred not to make himself known to strangers but listening to people speak was a rare joy.

“Och, ye see it in the way they look at ye and the things they do for ye. The way they make ye feel. All sorts.”

The man turned from the fire and sat beside the boy, his face a larger, heavier replica of the child’s. Both their features were elongated by shadows thrown up from the flames. The older had clearly lived a hard life, most likely a violent too, it was written in the harsh plains of his cheekbones and the watchful twitch of his eyes, but the younger held the gentle handsomeness of youth in blossom and a mouth that seemed always about to smile and Malachi felt moved to see it.

“But how do ye ken ye are in their heart?”

Malachi strained to hear the answer as the wind shifted, it was a daft question and the knowledge which the old warrior might impart would in no way be useful but it had been a long time since his tattered book of poetry had scattered into the wind and he longed to catch a few words on the subject of love.

“Ye canna possibly ken the heart, the true heart, o’ another. Ye can but sense its contents from afar and marvel at the wee bits that reflect back at ye from her eyes.”

“’Her’ eyes, Grandda?”

“Aye laddie, for when a man speaks thusly it is always a woman he is thinking of.”

Malachi smiled at the truth of the warrior’s words and began to withdraw from them. The air held the promise of a chilly night and he had his own fire to build and rabbits to skin. As he melted back into the woods the breeze returned to his favour and he caught the last of their discussion.

“Are ye thinkin’ o’ Grannie?”

“Of course. I think o’ her always, even when my mind is on other tasks, she is there in the corners and the nooks.”

“Like dust!”

“Aye, and I shall love her as rightly until I am dust also.”


End file.
